by Sam Sisavath
“Construction equipment,” Nate said, leaning between the two front seats again. “Looks like diggers.”
“Diggers?” she said.
“For digging.”
“Of course,” she said, feeling stupid.
“Which begs the question: What were they digging out here?”
Danny reached for his rifle, said, “Eyes wide, ears open, and weapons hot at all times, got it?” and climbed out.
She and Nate followed his example on the other side of the truck, their rifles gripped tightly in front of them. The grass was taller than it had looked from inside their vehicle, and if they had kept going, they might have become stuck in another twenty to thirty yards.
“Danny?” she said across the warm hood at him.
He was peering at the construction equipment, as if he could see something she and Nate couldn’t. “Stay frosty,” he said, before starting forward. “Shoot anything that moves that isn’t us.”
Gaby exchanged a quick look with Nate, who shrugged.
She flicked the safety off her AR-15 and followed Danny into the weeds. Grass slapped at her legs, prompting her to think about what things might be lurking inside all the unseen parts of the field at the moment. Not ghouls, of course; it was still daylight—
She glanced up instinctively at the still-high sun. Still time.
But not a lot.
Danny had stopped in front of them and was looking down at something.
“Danny,” she said. “What is it?”
He shook his head but didn’t say anything. She walked over and looked down at what he had been staring at.
It was a big, gaping rectangular hole in the ground, surrounded by obliterated gray and black chunks of something that, once upon a time, had been big enough to cover the opening. Now, there were only piles of the object scattered about the grass, some as small as her fist and others as big (if not bigger) than a desk.
She had noticed the difference under her boots a few yards back, where the soft dirt ended and the hard, even concrete floor began. The construction around the “door” was still intact, but everything else—anything standing more than a few feet above the ground—had been demolished months ago, leaving behind divots and giant clawlike markings that could only have been put there by one of the construction vehicles.
“Oh man, this isn’t good, is it?” Nate said, as he stopped next to her and looked down.
Like the two of them, she was transfixed by the hole in the ground. It was massive and framed by gray concrete walls. Sunlight illuminated some of the stairs leading down, but not enough, and most of what was on the bottom was lost in a thick pool of darkness. She could see the shape of some kind of lightbulb just beyond the light, but there was no telling how long it had been out.
Then the darkness shifted and moved, and all three of them took a quick step back and lifted their weapons instinctively.
“Whoa,” Nate breathed next to her.
“Don’t sweat it; they’re more scared of you than you are of them,” Danny said.
“You think?”
“Absolutely not.”
Danny lowered his rifle and wrinkled his nose, as if he had an itch he couldn’t get to. Then he turned and walked away, stopping about ten yards later. He stomped down on something buried in the ground, producing a loud metallic clang!
“What is it?” Gaby asked.
“The titanium door that was supposed to be over that opening,” Danny said. “We were pretty sure it could withstand a nuke.” He looked in the direction of the construction equipment. “But why use a nuke when you could just pry it open with the right can openers.”
“Collaborators,” Nate said.
“Unless the ghouls have mastered driving a stick, then probably, yeah.”
“So we came all the way out here for nothing?” Nate asked, unable to hide his disappointment.
“It would appear so.” Danny sighed and let his rifle hang at his side. “I guess it was too much to hope the little bastards would leave the facility alone after we left. This’ll teach me to be optimistic.”
Gaby wasn’t entirely sure why she wasn’t more angry, or at least as visibly disappointed as Nate and Danny were. But she wasn’t. Maybe it was everything they had seen and been through since arriving back in Texas. The events of Hellion, T29, even Larkin. After all those things, coming here and finding Starch empty was…anti-climactic.
At least no one died here, unlike the 400 people in T29. Or the poor bastards in Hellion.
She walked over to Danny. “We should go. It’ll be dark soon.”
Danny nodded, then took a moment to look around at the clearing. “We cleaned out Starch pretty good when we were here. Spent a lot of time searching for silver in every nook and cranny.”
“Did you guys happen to stash some silver bullets in town?”
“Afraid not.”
“What about the facility?” Nate asked.
They looked back at him.
“What about it?” Danny said.
“Maybe if we can lure them out…”
Danny gave him an almost pitying look before grinning at Gaby, though she could tell he didn’t quite have his heart in it this time. “Captain Optimism, this guy,” Danny said. “Thinks we can lure them out into the open when there are probably a few thousand of them squeezed in there. This, with two hours until nightfall, and no way to close the door.”
“Guess not,” Nate said.
“Facility’s gone, along with everything inside it. We officially came all the way here for nothing. I’m sorry, kids. Maybe next time.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Gaby said. “We knew the risks when we volunteered.” She glanced at Nate, and he nodded and smiled back at her. “So the question is, what’s our next move?”
“It’s too late to go back to Larkin, so we’ll hole up in Starch,” Danny said. “I know Lara and Carly. Even without contact from us, they’ll wait at Port Arthur for as long as possible. They’re not going anywhere until someone shows them our dead bodies.”
“Ugh, not the best choice of words there,” Nate grunted.
“Sorry about that.”
“You’re certain of that?” she asked. “That they’ll wait for us?”
“Sure as Pauly Shore.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Damn kids,” Danny said, and started walking back to the truck. Under his breath, she heard him muttering, “Texas is really starting to piss me off.”
Gaby and Nate turned and followed him in silence. She took a moment to glance up at the sun just to assure herself it was still up there. Was it her imagination, or did the sky look darker since the last time she—
Something flickered in the corner of her eye, some kind of figure, and she stopped and looked toward the woods across the clearing.
She saw trees—a lot of trees.
“What is it?” Nate asked. He had kept walking a few steps before realizing she had stopped and turned back around.
“I don’t know,” Gaby said quietly, as if afraid someone might overhear her.
“You saw something?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Like back at the road?”
Yes, she thought, but said instead, “It’s this place. It’s spooky.”
Nate gave her a reassuring smile. “Trident or bust, right?”
She smiled back. Or tried to, anyway. “Trident or bust.”
They walked the rest of the way to the truck, where Danny was already waiting for them.
Something moved in the corner of her left eye, but Gaby ignored it.
There’s nothing out there, she told herself. It’s just your imagination.
BOOK THREE
‡
OF MONSTERS AND MEN
CHAPTER 21
KEO
“GET THE GIRL. Lose her. Go back for the girl.”
It wasn’t exactly the best plan in the world, but then things had a bad habit of going sideways these d
ays. Surviving The Purge had been a crapshoot, but the year afterward had become one big blur of gunfights and near misses. He supposed when he really thought about it, riding back to Gillian, a woman who had already spurned him once (or was that twice now?), was about par for the course.
It wasn’t like anything else had worked out these last few months. He would have been perfectly happy to hop back onto the Trident and ride the waves to the Bengal Islands with Lara and the others. Carrie would be there, and of all the women on the yacht, she was always the best reason not to go look for Gillian. And there was also Bonnie…
He must have sighed out loud, because Jordan said, “That’s a pretty big sigh right there, mister.”
“Just thinking,” he said.
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah.”
Jordan was watching him while leaning against the front passenger door of the truck. After about ten minutes with a T-shirt between her and the bloody stains on the seat, she had gotten over being squeamish. At the moment, there was nothing but undeveloped land rushing by outside the open window behind her.
“What?” he said.
“I’m just trying to figure you out,” she said.
“You’re trying too hard.”
“You’re more than you let on.”
“Like I told Lara, I’m just a guy with a gun. It’s not that complicated.”
“I don’t believe that. Bonnie doesn’t believe it, either. We had a little talk back at the beach. Are you curious what she said?”
“No.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that.”
He sighed. “What did she say?”
“Sorry, private conversation.”
He flashed her an annoyed glance, but she just smiled back at him.
They drove on for a few more minutes in silence, the cool wind blasting against his face through the windowless driver-side door. December in Texas was so unlike anything he had experienced in other parts of the world, and he still hadn’t decided if he liked it or was disturbed by it. Maybe a little of both.
They had left Sunport behind a while ago, and there was just empty farmland around them now. A red barn popped up every now and then, along with fenced off property devoid of cows or other livestock. Texas State Highway 288 was a low-to-the-ground two-lane road that connected Sunport and Angleton, and they were on the northwest-bound lane with the southeast-bound thirty meters over to the left. Both long, gray stretches of pavement were barren, with no other vehicle within sight.
“How close are we to the turn-off?” he finally asked.
Jordan took out the same map he had liberated from Gregson’s tank and unfolded it in her lap, then traced the route with her forefinger. “We’re closing in on Angleton. About five more miles. From there, take State Highway 35. That should take us to Alvin, then I-45 after that.”
“You sure he’s going to be there?”
“I’m sure. The question is, will he welcome you back?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about; I think I made a pretty good first impression.”
She might have rolled her eyes when she said, “You tried to kill him.”
“I was sent to kill him, but I didn’t. Big difference.”
“Let’s hope he makes that distinction.”
“I’m sure he will. Question is, do you think Captain America will help us?”
She thought about it for a moment before nodding. “I think he will once I explain what’s happening out here. The Tobias I know wouldn’t be able to sit by while Mercer’s people are butchering civilians. It’s not how he’s wired.”
“What about the others? Would they come along, too?”
“I don’t know about the rest, but Reese will. He looks up to Tobias. There’s a good chance the rest will follow, too. The ones that can still fight, anyway. They were pretty banged up the last time we saw them.”
“So, at least two more guns,” Keo nodded. “Four against an army. A mobilized army on high alert, waiting for an impending attack.”
“Doesn’t sound quite as good when you say it out loud.”
“Are you kidding me? Those are the best odds I’ve had in months.”
She gave him an unconvinced glance.
“If I’m lying, I’m dying,” he grinned back at her.
“I can’t tell if you’re serious.”
“Like a stroke,” he said, when he saw it a second later and thought, Oh, fuck me.
He didn’t hear it, but he imagined it was there somewhere outside the vehicle—the telltale swoosh!—as the sun glinted off the dull olive green of the rocket-propelled grenade as it flashed across the windshield, entering the periphery of his vision from the right and disappearing out of the left.
Keo didn’t have time—didn’t waste time—tracking the rocket’s trajectory as it missed the truck by a few feet and kept going. A civilian might have slammed on the brake in shock, but Keo wasn’t a civilian. He floored the gas pedal and the Ford F-150 lurched forward, gaining even more speed as it went.
“Keo!” Jordan shouted as her body was thrown back against her seat by the sudden acceleration.
“Hold on!” he shouted back.
He had both hands on the steering wheel to make sure the truck didn’t do anything he didn’t want it to. His eyes shot left then right, to the rearview mirror and forward, always moving, even as he willed the truck to go faster, faster, faster.
They had been moving at forty miles an hour before, but he was already up to sixty—
—seventy—
—ninety—
“Keo!” Jordan shouted again, clutching to the handhold over her door with one hand, the other gripping her M4 by the barrel.
“Ambush!” he shouted back. “Hold on!”
He zeroed in on the rearview mirror as a man-sized lump—no, two—stood up to the right of the highway, where they had been hiding among the sunburnt fields. They were wearing dark-colored uniforms.
Collaborators?
He expected pursuit at any moment—vehicles to burst out of the grass like some wild animal—but each time he stole a quick glance at the rearview mirror the road behind him remained empty, and even the two that had stood up were just looking after them—
A loud boom! shattered his eardrums, and a second later the steering wheel was fighting his control and the truck was, impossibly, starting to turn sideways. Then he went from looking at the gray stretch of pavement out the windshield to staring at the cloudless sky to seeing the sun-bleached grass twirling in front of his eyes.
They were flying. The Ford was flying through the air.
But not for long. They came back down to earth, and there was an earsplitting blast as the glass around him shattered, drowning out Jordan’s screams. The cacophony of natural and unnatural sounds was followed by the loud crunch! of metal as the car smashed, rolled, and smashed again into the abandoned farmland.
The engine was still turning when he opened his eyes, very aware of the seatbelt strap pinning him to his seat. He pushed past the thrum of pain and concentrated instead on the heavy tap-tap of footsteps in the background. Something wet streaked across his forehead and into his hair and drip-drip-dripped down to…the ceiling?
Combat boots appeared outside the shattered front windshield before he could unlatch himself from the seat belt and reach for his weapon. The legs were upside down for a reason. Oh, right, because he and the truck were overturned.
“Holy shit, they’re still alive,” someone said.
“Not for long,” a second voice said.
The familiar sting of cold metal pressing into the side of his temple was enough to make Keo forget about the pain. He couldn’t quite turn his head all the way around, so he couldn’t see who was crouching just outside the driver-side door.
“Close enough for ya, Tanner?” the first voice asked with a laugh.
“Just about,” the second man, Tanner, said, followed by the very clear click of a gun hammer being pulled back.
“We
ll, do it already, before she—”
A loud squawking noise cut him off, followed by a muffled female voice. “What’s the body count?”
“—too late,” the first voice finished.
“Sonofabitch,” Tanner said, and Keo felt the barrel depress slightly against his temple.
“Give me a sitrep,” the female voice said.
He heard another click as someone keyed a radio’s transmit lever. “They’re still alive,” the first man said.
“I’m on my way. Don’t do anything until then.”
“Tanner wants to—”
“I said, don’t do anything until I get there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man said, though Keo detected obvious derision and wondered if he had transmitted that last part or said it to empty air. “You heard her; don’t pop them yet.”
“Fuck,” Tanner said.
Rough hands grabbed and pulled him out of the overturned Ford and deposited him on the ground on his back, allowing him a great view of the wide-open skies above. It was a very bright afternoon, the kind that would have looked perfect from the aft of the Trident.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda, pal.
“Look at that face,” the man named Tanner said. “Shit, man, looks like you’ve been through the wringer. Made you real pretty.”
“Girl looks pretty good, though,” the other one said.
“She still alive?”
“I think so. She’s moving. I’ll go check…”
Footsteps, fading.
Then Tanner’s voice again, somewhere in the background. “How’d you dodge that first rocket?”
Rocket? What—Oh. That rocket.
“You must be the luckiest sonofabitch I know,” Tanner said when Keo didn’t answer. “Harry never misses. That guy’s like a savant with an M72. Good thing Doug was a better shot, or you’d still be hauling ass down the road. Too bad for you, chum.”
An M72 LAW rocket launcher. Uncle Sam’s version of an anti-tank weapon that apparently was just as good against a moving truck going, what, ninety miles an hour? He tried to imagine what the F-150 must have looked like when it was hit. The round probably struck the back first, which accounted for the booming sound, before sending the Ford shooting forward and upward like a launching missile. He would have approved of the sight if he wasn’t the one inside the target at the time.